


About Rickon

by ann_and_white_elephant



Series: The Mother of Monarchs [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catelyn Lives, Children, F/M, Gen, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann_and_white_elephant/pseuds/ann_and_white_elephant
Summary: Catelyn marries Lord Mallister before the Red Wedding. She starts a new family while dealing with her half-wildling son from the old one. (Works as a stand-alone story).Five children, kings and queens. And one who was no son of hers.  Five + one AUs series.





	1. About Rickon 1/1

Her blankets smelled faintly of hemp and beeswax. An ointment Lord Jason’s used to treat old injuries. They always came to remind him of all the battles he had fought whenever it rained. It had not rained yesterday, but it snowed. Through window Catelyn could hear the sound of waves. She was fully awake now, but did not open her eyes just yet. The other side of her bed was empty. Whenever her second husband sought her bedchamber, he never stayed a whole night. He had been a widower for many years and got used to sleeping alone. The chamber was warm and the featherbed soft. There were duties she had to attend today, but none too pressing. In the end it was a heavy stomach and full bladder that took her from the bed.

Her visit to Maester Jovan was short. The man proposed to accompany her as she was leaving him. She thanked him kindly for the advice but refused the offer and left him in his chamber. The place contained the largest collection of ointments and potions she had ever seen. Not to mention dried plants, bug wings and rare stones they were made from. The maester of Seagard was a gifted healer though admittedly uninterested in the art of war. _Better than the other way around,_ Catelyn thought not for the first time. Lord Jason, as many other lords, had learned hundred ways how to win a battle, but none, how to ease an aching tooth.

Walking to the south wing Catelyn made a detour. The door squeaked and revealed an arcade overlooking the courtyard. Most days the sound of steel and wood clashing could be heard as soon as dawn. Today it seemed that knights and men and arms found different duties, or maybe they were riding quintains or training archery at the bigger outer yard. There was only a score of pages and squires. Ser Lyam, the castle’s master at arms could not be away long. The boys were dressed and padded for the training. Half of them still held wooden swords and small shields. The rest of the training equipment lied carelessly abandoned all around. The boys were quick to find a better pastime than repeating mundane steps of attack and parry.

One of them had shed his padding and another even his tunic, though it was not even warm enough for the soft dust of snow to melt. The two were circling each other awaiting a good entry for an attack while the onlookers cheered and prompted them on. Wish as she might have otherwise, Catelyn was not at all surprised to discover that the bare-chested boy was her own son. Rickon’s today’s victim was at least two years his senior, tall for his age and fleshy. Vaguely, Catelyn recalled that he might be Lord Piper’s nephew. The boy became Lord’s Jason’s ward just three days past. _That would explain it, he doesn’t know better yet._

The fight broke sudden and quick. The Piper boy was the first one to attack. He lunged at Rickon and attempted to knock him down. Rickon moved to the side and managed to avoid most of the blow, while the Piper continued to move forward. Unbalanced, the older boy lost his footing. Rickon all but jumped on him while he was on the ground. They rolled around few times, each landing a blow and kick or two. Rickon fought with fury which would have shocked Cat, had she not seen it displayed many times before. Still, the Piper boy was older and much heavier. Her son’s auburn hair was already drenched with sweat, while his rival was barely out of breath. The older boy might have even won, but if there was one thing Rickon had not learned yet, it was how to lose a fight. Catelyn’s son managed to free himself from other boy’s grasp just enough to stretch and bite the hand prepared for another blow. Blood and shrieks followed.

Cat might have inferred then, but loud shouts announced the return of Ser Lyam. Quickly, the master at arms pulled the boys apart, before more harm was done. Catelyn retreated to the shadows. Guilt often came, when she thought about her youngest son. And a feeling of failure. She did not know if she was too soft or too harsh with him. If she should be the one to be stern with him or give him comfort. Was doing too little or too much? No matter, now was not a time to act. Ser Lyam was a stern man but a fair one. He had fought in the War of Ninepenny Kings, Robert’s and Balon Greyjoy’s rebellions and when Robb called the banners and accomplished himself every time. Even for him it had not been an easy task to gain Rickon’s respect. Her meddling cold only harm that. _I should at least ask maester Jovan to look at Rickon’s injuries, I am his mother, I should do that much. _With one last look at her son, Catelyn returned inside.

On her departure Catelyn came across the last of the three men most prominent in her husband’s household. Hosteen Binford, the Seagard’s high steward called after her just as she was entering the castle’s newest wing. The man informed her that her lord husband had left before the dawn with his son Patrek and when the supper would be served. As usually not one redundant word was exchanged between them. The man never acknowledged that the words had other purposes than to accomplish every task in the most efficient way. And efficient man he was. Over the years he had grown used to running the castle without a presence of the Lady. Still newly remarried Catelyn had been almost broken by the tidings of Robb’s death. Later, other greater concerns required her attention. Until one day she stopped and realised that it was too late and she had missed her chance. Her duties at Seagard were not half of what they had been at Winterfell. Mostly, she just kept an eye on her children.

The nursery in the south wing was small but bright and warm even in winter. Tilya, the wet nurse, sat on the floor. The child held her hand and tried to walk on short unsteady legs. It was half a fortnight since the little girl made her first step. At first, Catelyn’s daughter did not even notice her, so focused she was in her effort. The girl returned to the wet nurse’s arms with laughter and Catelyn smiled too. “Are you up, little one?”

Outburst of excited babble regarded her as an answer. With a smile Catelyn lifted her daughter in her arms. She kissed soft auburn hair on child’s heads. That was all Sara get from her in her looks. Her eyes had already turned to blue-grey of her father and even from her little face it was clear that she would take more after the Mallisters. Catelyn was not sure if her second husband took any pride in that. Or if he would have preferred a son. _She is not sickly anymore, that is all that matters_. Sara had been born smaller than the rest of Cat’s children. To make the matter worse, Catelyn barely had any milk at the time. The child struggled from one malady to another. Was it not for maester Jovar’s skill, she would not have been with them anymore. Three wet nurses were called to the castle, until finally the child took well to one. Since then the little girl thrived.

As Tilya stood up and straightened in front of her, Catelyn once again noticed that the wet nurse was not tall. She did not need the height with heart-shaped face, big eyes and full lips. And even a simple undyed dress couldn’t hide an alluring figure the serving woman managed to regain despite two little children of her own. But then, even if already a widow Tilya was not yet nine and ten.

“M’lady, the girl had eaten. I will be in my cell.” There was a tension in the younger woman’s voice. Catelyn had never warmed towards her. Pretty serving women in the households full of men were always trouble. And no matter how grateful Cat was for Tilya saving her daughter’s life, part of her resented the woman for the closeness she had with the child.

Not minding her own gown, Catelyn sat at the same spot where the wet nurse had been. She was regarded by few clumsy steps. Sara even managed two or three without holding her mother’s hand. It took some time, until the child grew tired from the exercise. With drowsing Sara in her hands Catelyn walked to the window. The chamber overlooked Seagard’s godswood. Leaded glass panels gave the world a queerly crooked shape, but even so, no one could pretend this garden was anything like Winterfell’s thick old wood. Quietly, a lullaby broke from Cat’s lips. It was a song she had heard many times in Riverlands. Among those, a memory long forgotten emerged. Her own mother sat at the bank of the Red Fork. Her face was blurred by years passed, but her gown was Tully blue, and her voice clear as she sang the same words to a little boy.

Though not closest to the coast, beneath the smoke and food, the Seagard’s great hall always smelled of sea. It would fit trice into the hall of Riverrun and five times between the grey stones of Winterfell. Yet Lord Jason usually kept only a small company at the table and the hall seemed grossly oversized. Today the space appeared even more deserted with her husband’s place unoccupied. Whenever Jason Mallister was away Catelyn preferred to sup alone or with Rickon in her solar. Others who shared the table seemed to have no such misgivings. In contrary to any common courtesy Hosteen Binford was lost in a large parchment containing the castle’s latest purchases, maester Jovan was enjoying his tea as if it was the best Arbor Gold and Ser Lyam seemed to be stuck in an ethereal loop of sipping from his beer and whipping his mustache with the back of his hand. Only Rickon was still eating.

It had been more than half a year since luck, storms and Davos Seaworth brought her lost son back to her, yet Rickon’s table manners remained worse than Arya’s ever had been. Just then he was savagely tearing a big piece of roasted pork with his teeth. There was a knife at hand, and he knew how to use it too, but not for dining it seemed. Cat’s son was barely seven, but even many grown men in the castle thought twice before approaching him. It had been even more dire while Shaggy lived. Guilt squeezed Catelyn’s heart_. I had no choice, it was for the best_.

“What lesson will my son have today?” Catelyn turned to master Jovan.

The man fully opened his eyes, disturbed from his enjoyment of drink.

“We will continue to practice writing and sums mostly. His grace should also learn the names of all Free Cities. _And if all goes smoothly,_” the maester gave Rickon a long unflinching look “I might have time to show him the illuminations of Essosi weaponry. I must confess, my knowledge is wider when it comes to eastern art of healing. But alas, few share my passion in this area.”

_His grace_. The words always disquieted her, no matter how many times she heard them. With no knowledge about Bran’s fate, the lords of Riverlands and North declared Rickon Robb’s heir and king. _But king of what?_ Winterfell had fallen and those who remained loyal had to withstand Boltons, Ironborn and Stannis squabbling over the headless corpse of the North. In the Riverlands, matters stood better, but not much. Catelyn’s uncle Brynden held Riverrun in her name. With the help of Lord Blackwood and Catelyn’s husband, they controlled the lands from Riverrun to Seagard. How much would they lose or gain in a moon turn or a year, she would not dare even guess. The Lannister regime was crumbling, but new claimants were sprouting out of nowhere every day. And even if they ruled the whole world, Rickon was still a child.

That was a narrow path with deep abyss on either side. The lords needed to respect Rickon’s title, but he needed respect their age yet. Catelyn had seen what spoiling done to Robert Arryn and heard even worse of boy king’s Joffrey rule. And gods help her, Rickon needed firm hand more than most.

Cat’s son proved her last thought right just a moment later. In an abrupt movement he yanked the last piece of his meet and threw it good few feet across the Seagard’s great hall. Two big hounds run to it from their place by fire. Neither prepared to back off the dogs started to snarl and growl. When even that was not enough to designate the owner of the morsel, a quick fight broke off. Some boys took enjoyment in such displays, but Rickon turned away displeased. _He thinks of Shaggydog. And he misses him still_, Catelyn understood suddenly. _I had no choice, _she told herself the thousandth time.

The dogs were back in their place and they all were about to leave the table when the big carved door opened and Jason Mallister and his son Patrek entered. The serving maids flocked to them and food and drink were brought once again.

“How was your dealing at the in the harbor, my lord?” the steward asked her husband.

Lord Mallister pondered her question above a honeyed rib, but before he could speak, his son answered her.

“Tiresome and worthless. But on our way home we came upon the most magnificent black stallion. A warhorse at first glance. The fool innkeep who had him, knew no more how to handle him then if I gave the man a sword. What business he had with such a beast? I gave him a golden dragon and the man was all but weeping with thanks.”

“Not a bad price,” Lord Jason allowed, “but the horse is not that young.”

“Might be, but think of the foals we will get, father!” Patrek’s eyes glistened as he imagined his future herd. He was not unlike many sons of noble houses. Cheerful and fond of fight, women and wine. Life had been more kind than harsh to him so far. It might had been different was in not for Catelyn’s hastily arranged marriage. After her brother Edmure had fallen in the Battle of the Fords, Robb insisted she must marry again as soon as possible. _I have no clear heir in the North, I cannot let the same happen with Riverlands. And I loathe to think what Lord Frey might demand, when he learns. I slighted him and he might want to do the same. He could choose a cripple or a lackwit for you and I will have no ground to refuse him. And when he has you, there would be nothing but my life between him and Riverrun. _Her oldest son had told her in a heavy voice.

What she could have dome but to agree? For all the good it done to Robb. Lord Mallister was chosen from her father’s bannermen and her new husband and his son accompanied her to her future home. So it happened that they weren’t with her son, among the lords Walder Frey murdered as guest under his own roof. Red Feast, the smallfolk named the treachery.

Just now Patrek was calling Rickon to the stables to show him the newest addition. Catelyn half-dared to hope, that he might fill some of the emptiness left by Rickon’s dead siblings. _But I should spend more time with him too, there would be no better time than now. _Sara was not so sickly anymore and in the morning maester Jovan confirmed what Catelyn had suspected for some time. She was with a child again.

“Rickon, would you join me after your lessons?” Cat asked her son.

The boy frowned and looked at her uncertain. “Are you going to sew?”

Despite herself Catelyn smiled. Though as always even the fondest memories of her older children were tainted with grief and loss. Of all of them only Sansa liked to join her in the rare times she found the time to sit in some warm, quiet place in Winterfell to embroider. Her sons found it boring beyond words and Arya had been even worse. Catelyn wondered how Sara would be once she grew older. Her youngest was by far not as wild as Arya, but somehow, Cat did not think she would grow up to be as gracious as Sansa either. 

“We don’t have to be inside, if you don’t want to. We can go to godswood or even to the town or walk on the coast. Or you can play with your little sister.”

“Take her out. I will show her the godswood.”

Catelyn did not doubt that it was not cold for Rickon, but Sara had been a sickly babe. And unlike the rest of Cat’s children she had never known the North. _But if I want her to know the world outside the castle walls, I better begin now._ Colder days would come, Catelyn was sure. Winter was coming. Even in Riverlands.

It had been Rickon’s words which led her to low building near the kitchens. There three washerwomen in huge wooden tubs tended clothes and bedsheets. Bessa, who was a gifted seamstress overlooked them with firmer hand than any general. It was her, whom Catelyn approached with her request.

“Threads for embroidering? Of course m’lady. Will it be something for the little lady?”

Catelyn thought about the question. Sara was growing so quickly, if Cat started to work on one of little dresses she was wearing now, the girl would likely outgrow it even before she was done. With Rickon’s clothes she would be hard pressed to find a piece that had not been ripped and repaired a good few times. At Winterfell she had embroidered Stark sigil at few of Ned’s doublets, always wondering if it would be not too much for her stern northern husband. Ned never thanked her with words, but there had been a smile the first time she had done so and every time after. _I have never done so for Lord Jason. _“Blanket, I think.” For Sara and maybe for the new babe too. 

As Catelyn walked she traced the threats in her pocket. She had them before her eyes even if she couldn’t see them. Purple and silver, even green and red for flowers. And a small piece of grey and white. _But what would I do with that? My youngest is no Stark_.

Tilya was just leaving the nursery with Sara in her arms. They weren’t alone. Catelyn did not hear what was said between the two adults, but she saw Patrek’s smile. The young man’s hands lingered where they shouldn’t as he took his little sister from the wet nurses’ arms. The child, however, was not fond of strangers. Her half-brother, more than two decades older, had little place in her world so far. The hall filled with loud vailing.

In an instant Catelyn was with them. Ser Patrek, as many men faced with a crying child decided for retreat.

“She is hungry, m’lady.”

The wet nurse has it right. The child had quieted, but her little brow was furrowed and her mouth kept tight.

In the nursery Tylia sat on a stool and put the little girl to her breast. Catelyn watched them, fighting her resentment. She never needed wet nurse for her own children before. Sara was almost one and she ate as much other food as she took milk. She could be weaned soon and Catelyn could send Tilya away and forget the other woman ever existed. Only what if her next child was born sickly too?

“I wish you would feed her more in recent months.” Unbidden a memory of her sister Lysa came to her mind, feeding her sickly son even as he passed his sixth nameday. Cat willed it away, Sara was by far not that old.

“M’lady?”

Catelyn hesitated. Some husbands took it as a slight if they were not the first to learn their wife was expecting. _I will tell lord Jason soon enough_.

“I am with a child again. Your services might be needed when the babe is born.”

Catelyn had not expected anything else than an agreement. Being a wet nurse was by far the best service Tilya could hope for. She ate as well as any lady for the sake of the child. Her clothes were simple but warm and always clean. She had a warm bed to sleep in and enough coin to take care of her own children and elderly father. Yet the serving woman did not answer.

Tears run down Tilya’s smooth cheeks.

“What is the matter?” The words sounded harsh even to Cat’s own ears, no matter how much she tried to hold her anger on a short leash.

The wet nurse cast down her face. She watched the little girl in her arms as she answered. “I am with a child too, m’lady.”

“I was not aware you have married again.”

The other woman refused to look at her, but Catelyn heard her sniffle. “The man… he cannot marry me.”

All her years as the lord’s daughter and later wife Catelyn prided herself, that she was never harsh with servants. Yet, if this girl was not holding a child, she would have slapped her. Maids spilling soup at her gowns, heedless young pages running into her and even a pig that escaped block and fouled her own chamber, that she could forgive. But not women who were willing to bring more bastard children in the world.

Cat’s head still rang with Tilya’s revelation as she arrived at her own chambers. _I would not find a peace to sew today_. As the door closed behind her and her eyes found the bed, she felt suddenly very tired. When Cat woke again, the hour almost came for her meeting with Rickon. There was just enough time to dress herself and see to one task she should not leave for another day.

The squire at the lord’s door was the same one Rickon had fought in the morning. His face held solemnness of a boy given his first important task. There were few fresh bruises on his face and his hand was bandaged in silk, but he looked much better than the last boy Rickon took in fight.

Lord Jason was sitting at his table reading messages. “My lady, I had not expected you.” With some stiffness her husband stood up and kissed her hand. Once, she might have thought the gesture most gallant, but now it ran hollow. Even after two years of marriage it oft seemed that Lord Jason treated her more as an honored guest than his own wife. Were it not for his sparse visit to her bedchamber, she might have forgotten they had been married at all. But maybe, it was for the best. She could not forgive herself if she loved him as she had loved Ned.

Cat watched his face carefully. He was not uncommely even at his age, with wide jaw, straight nose and clear eyes. “I won’t take much of your time, my lord. I just came to inform you, that master Jovan confirmed I am with a child again.” There was no mistaking his surprise. If the news brought him joy too, she could not tell.

“Ser Wylis and Lord Glower will arrive with Lord Tytos in the fortnight. I just got a raven from the Raventree Hall. Maybe we should announce it on the welcoming feast.” He suggested.

_If Binford does not bar the castle gates first_. As her husband, Lord Jason had the most right to oversee Rickon’s upbringing. That did not stop others from trying to stay close to their boy king in the age when he was the most malleable. Especially Ser Wylis became almost permanent addition the household, no doubt acting on behalf of his father Lord Wyman Manderly. It had soon won the knight the irk of the castle’s steward. Not so much because of house Manderly’s ambition, as for Ser Wylis love of food.

“As you wish.”

The answer was met with a nod and then absentmindedly her lord husband was breaking the seal of another message. She left him to his duties. The door handle was already moving, when he called after her.

“What it is my lord?”

Lord Jason looked concerned. He waited a moment as if he was pondering his words carefully. When in the end he told her nothing more than an apology for a stray thought, Cat knew there was more to it, but she did not ask. She would not meddle into ruling again. Not after Robb. Still, she shot a glance at the piece of parchment in his hand. The words were hidden from her, but the sealing wax was black.

The meeting took more of her time than she had expected and even longer was the wait for Sara being dressed. The sun was low and the soft haze coming from the ground had a reddish tint. When Catelyn entered the godswood with her daughter, her last remaining son was already there. He was kneeling in front of the weirwood. The Mallisters of old had kept the old gods and the heart tree was wide and tall, but not even half so as the tree at Winterfell.

Rickon’s stillness was in sharp contrast to his usual wild nature. Despite his auburn hair, in that moment he reminded her of his own father. The father whom he would never truly know. How many times Catelyn found Ned like this, praying to his gods? Though Rickon was not praying in truth, he was mourning. From the ground beneath the tree jutted a mound. Bigger than for a man’s grave. The frosts came not long after they had made it, no green grew over it and the snow had not fallen strong enough to cover the soil. Its dark brown stood in stark contrast to the yellow of old dried grass. This was the place where they had buried her son’s wolf.

Guilt squeezed her heart. _I had no choice_. Grey Wind had been Robb’s companion on the battlefield and outside it and men came both to fear and admire the beast, but Shaggydog had been different. _Or maybe not, maybe that is the nature of the bond between Starks and their wolves_. Rickon himself had been half a beast when they reunited. He was just as like to snap at the hand that meant to caress that one outstretched to hit. The lords had been disquieted when they come to learn how unruly their boy king was, but they convinced themselves that it was nothing a stern upbringing would not solve. They were men, besides. Most of them would rather have a king who was violent, even cruel, than a meek one. The wolf, though…

In the end it was Lord Jason who took the courage and brought the matter to her. With a heavy heart she had agreed. An arrow from the godswood wall was how the black wolf died. Catelyn had not told Rickon she had allowed it, she did not think she ever would.

“Rickon,” she called softly.

He came to them and gifted her with one of his rare smiles. Sara, old enough to understand the mimics started to laugh.

“Can I hold her?” Rickon asked. “I want to show her things.”

“Yes, but be careful, she is yet small and fragile. If she seems too heavy call me at once.”

He nodded with a solemn face and Catelyn eased carefully the babe to his arms. Like with Patrek the girl began to frown, but before Catelyn even started to shoo her, Rickon began to talk to her and that seemed to make the babe forged her disapproval.

The wolf’s grave was the first thing he showed her. “He always protected me. You had no wolf, but I am your older brother and I will protect you.”

The sun had set, and her daughter was sleeping when Catelyn returned. She found the nursery empty. With Tilya gone, Cat called one of the other maids to watch over the child and decided to visit the sept. She had not prayed much since Robb’s death, but she felt somehow light-hearted today. After the beginning, the mood became more joyous in the godswood. Rickon would walk from tree to tree trying to teach his little sister their names. Sara babbled obediently though the little girl did not even come close to speaking real words. Rickon did not seem to mind. “Did you hear her, he would call. “I am teaching her _talk_!”

The sept was not entirely empty, but the old cook was just leaving. The woman curtsied to her lady and left her alone. Catelyn took six new candles and lit one for Father, Warrior, Smith, Maiden and Crone. She avoided looking at the Stranger, but she put the last candle before Mother’s statue and knelt. While she still held gods of her mother and father close to her heart, Catelyn found that she could no longer bring herself to demand anything for them. They reminded silent to her pleads to many times.

“Thank you, for today,” she whispered simply.

The hall was quiet and empty as she was returning. The sept adjoined the eastern wing reserved for guest. At the moment none of the chambers was used. Even Ser Wylis and Lord Glower occupied rooms in the part for family. Only a sole torch was lighting the whole space. Maybe it was this darkness which made Cat seek a cover, when she heard a noise. From a shadowed alcove she watched as one door opened slowly. Tilya emerged from an unused chamber, but before Cat could puzzle out what the woman was doing there, the wet nurse was followed by Lord Jason. Catelyn fought not to gasp, or sob maybe. Tilya and lord Jason spoke in faintest whispers. Catelyn was too old to fool herself about what she had witnessed. Her heart squeezed with pain and disappointment.

Her second husband never struck her as a man ruled by desires, but how well did she knew him?

Only a good while after the other two left, Cat followed them.

Despite the fire which had been lit, her own chamber seemed dark and cold. With heavy heart she undressed. Catelyn did not expect that sleep would come to her that night, yet her eyes closed almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.


	2. About Rickon – Sara

Sara’s heart was pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else. Not even her breathing, though she knew it must be frantic. Every intake of air felt as if countless little needles grew in her lugs, pinching mercifully. Below her the horse’s muscles flexed at the highest pressure. The mare called Tinkle galloped at the full speed of her youth. Sara always thought her black palfrey tame and mild-natured. That was why she had chosen her. Now she seemed as powerful and frightening as a wild dragon. And as impossible to control.

In their headless flight the land around held no more sharpness than a dream. _This is not a dream, though. This is happening for real. I am awake and if I fall, I will die, _Sara though lightheaded. Her fingers, devoid of feeling and snow white clutched the pommel of the saddle with even more force. Her thighs ached. The small part of her mind which was not preoccupied by being frightened to death, whispered to her, that she was doing well. She was still alive.

Since she was a little girl, no taller than her mother’s waist, Sara loved horses. She was forever sneaking treats to stables and begging father to be allowed to name every new-born foal. But she loved them best standing on a solid ground. She rode no more than twice in a moon turn and seldom even as fast as in trot_. I should thank Rickon that he goaded me to take riding breeches today_. If her brother hadn’t come south, if she had been side-saddle in a gown as usually, she would have been sprawled on the ground trice already.

Thinking of her half-brother kindled another worry. Rickon was better sword than the rest of her brothers, better than anyone she knew, but even he could not fight ten foes at once._ Is he well?_ It had been Rickon who shouted at her and mother to run as he unleashed his sword. The outlaws were more numerous than their escort, but they were afoot. _There were Mallister guards and northmen too. He will be well and so will I_.

Tinkle crossed another stream. The splashed water soaked fabric at Sara’s legs. The horse showed no sign of slowing down. _If I hold long enough, she must stop in the end_. As if the gods wanted to mock Sara’s resolve, the horse leaped across a ditch. Sara kept in the saddle only with the greatest effort. She refused to die _now_. For months she had been pestering everyone with questions about the capital, counting the days till the journey to King’s Landing. The Great Sept and the Red Keep, mummers from Essos and traders from Summer Islands. She would not die so close to seeing it all. Besides, it would break mother’s heart.

Before Sara’s mother married her lord father and Sara was born, Lady Catelyn was married to Lord Stark. Five children came of the union, but aside of Rickon and Sansa all were dead and lost. Even as the littlest girl Sara would notice her mother going sad whenever someone mentioned them. Robb, Bran, Arya. She knew their names as well as the names of her living siblings. She would not add another name to grieve for. Hearing her mother’s desperate shouts as Sara lost control of her horse, would not be how they parted. And so she held.

Fields just starting to green, trees sprouting first leaves, hedges peppered with little flowers. All flew past them. Sara could not be sure if it was a stream, a road or a cattle trail beneath the palfrey’s hooves. And then, just as they were descending a slope the hedges started grow closer, until there was nothing but a thick bush ahead of them. Only a narrow trail penetrated the wall of branches. They could never pass, yet the horse shoved no sign of slowing.

Focused on the approaching doom, Sara did not notice another rider joining her. Out of nowhere a hand in leather glove touched the horse’s black neck. As if struck by a spell, Tinkle slowed and then stopped just in time. Not even looking at her new companion Sara quickly jumped from the saddle. Unsteady as her legs and hands were, she ended at all four. As she was straightening clumsily, it occurred to her that it might not have been the wisest choice. Her _rescuer_ might very well be one of the outlaws and now she had no way to flee. _Stupid, stupid, stupid turniphead,_ she berated herself silently. Yet, there was nothing to do but gather her courage and look at the newcomer.

It was a woman. That might have reassured her somehow, but Sara remembered a song about Wenda the White Fawn, who had been a woman and outlaw both. And this woman, sure as winter, looked like neither a lady nor a field hand. Not much past twenty with brown hair and sharp grey eyes. She could have been even called beautiful, if she was dressed properly, but there was something wild and hard about her men’s clothes, messy braid and the way she held herself. As the woman unhorsed gracefully the girl saw a short thin sword at her hip too.

“Are you an outlaw?” Sara blurted, when she could not stand it any longer.

Laughter sparkled in woman’s eyes, taking some of the harshness of her face. “Might be I am, but not an outlaw you need to fear.” The slight accent that was hard to place.

Sara was not certain if she could trust her new companion, but it did not seem as if she had much choice. She tried again. “Will you help me to find my mother and brother?”

“Yes, if you wish.” The woman turned to her own horse, a magnificent grey gelding, and put her hand at his side. Sara halted back in terror at the prospect of mounting again so soon.

“Could we… maybe walk?”

“Enough of riding for a day?”

“Enough for a lifetime.” There it was again, the silent laughter in the grey eyes. Sara looked at the corners of woman’s mouth. There was no hint of the smile there, or of smiling lines. Whoever she was, she did not laugh often.

“Very well, we are not that far. You rode half a circle.” Sara’s rescuer answered, and they moved. Once the girl did not need to cling to her saddle for life, she was free to look around. It had been a nice warm day since the morning and the first flowers had already bloomed. To whichever direction she looked, there was a new one, she had not seen before. Still, no matter how lovely the land was, her curiosity was dragging her elsewhere.

“What is your name? Do you live here? Where were you going?” The words sprout out of Sara without a pause for breath.

“Would you believe me if I told you, they once called me Weasel?”

“No.” The girl answered at once. The woman did not look like a weasel at all. Besides, even if it was true, Sara’s own brothers sometimes called her Nestling to tease her, but it was not truly her name. Still, she had a feeling it was all the answer she would get.

“Will you at least tell me where you were riding?” _That one cannot be from around_. With her way of speech, her sword and fine horse she had to be _someone,_ and Sara surely would have heard about her by now. They were still in Riverlands.

“North.” The woman told her as they were leading their horses around muddied ground. 

Sara huffed in annoyance at the answer. Though it was probably not clever at all to huff at someone who was armed, even if it was a woman barely taller than herself. “North is a big place.”

“Bigger than you could possibly imagine, little one. But if you must know, I mean to go beyond the Wall.”

_Is she making fun of me? She had to be, otherwise she must be mad_. Suspicious Sara gave a side glance, but the other’s face gave nothing away. “No one lives beyond the Wall.” The girl objected carefully. “Not even wildlings anymore. They settled in my brother’s lands.” And the Watch which guarded the Wall once was no more. The tale about a ship arriving at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to find it without a living soul still gave her chills at night.

“And who is that brother of yours?”

Tightening her lips, Sara hesitated. If the woman was an outlaw or mad after all, would it make better or worse if Sara told her who she was? Being a daughter of Lord Mallister and Lady Tully, half-sister to one king and betrothed to the heir of another, she was worth a good ransom. But it might have given pause to anyone who meant her harm.

“I was just jesting, little one,” the woman spoke before Sara gathered an answer. “Of course, I know who you are and who is your brother. No matter the breeches, you are a highborn lady at first glance and you have some of the Tully looks. You would never find it easy to hide. I am surprised your sister Sansa managed it for so long.”

“Sansa is much prettier than me.” Sara spoke before she could halt herself. There was fourteen years between her and her sister. Sansa was a beautiful woman, while Sara was half a child, barely a maiden flowered. Besides, Sara did not fool herself. She had her mother’s thick auburn hair, but her chin was a little too pointy and her nose a little too sharp. She was not ugly, but at any feast, there would be prettier girls. _Not as well born, thought_. And that was why it was her and not those girls riding for King’s Landing. _But that might have been different if Sansa had been ten years younger._ “Have you ever seen my sister?” Sara turned to her companion. They entered a shadowed holloway. Sara did not remember riding here in her flight, but she did not pay it much mind. She did not know where she was anyway.

“Lady Sansa was at tourney at Maidenpool.”

That did not say much. That tourney was not a moon turn ago. Thousands of people have been there. Sara might have come herself, but no, she had to catch a stupid chill. At least she was well in time to travel to the capital.

“Have you ever been in King’s Landing? Do you know what it is like?” In the past moon Sara had plagued everyone in the castle with questions. Why not a stranger? She would bet that the woman visited all the places her mother or septa would never tell her about. 

“Eye, I was. It stinks like shit.”

“That is no proper answer!” Sara protested shocked, while silently she could not help but wonder if it could be true. She would not want to live in a place which stank so badly. No matter how big and pretty the Red Keep might be.

For the first time, Sara’s companion laughed aloud. “I don’t have to give you a proper answer. I am not a proper little lady like _someone_. Though, I am starting to have my doubts. You have a mouth on you.”

The girl just glared. Her brother Patrek once jested that they would have sold her to silent sisters years past, but for the fear that even without tongue she would hum and grunt at them all day long. But that was how she was with family. With anyone else she often would barely make a sound at all. It was queer that she was talking so much to someone as strange as her companion. Yet, Sara could not help a nagging feeling that she was close to something big. Something meaningful shimmering just out of her reach. Something she might either touch, or miss, never to get another chance. “Will you tell me more, please?” She asked in friendlier voice.

“If you answer a question of my own.”

All the tales agreed that it was never wise to make a deal before you knew the price. The woman could ask anything. But in the end the Sara decided that if nothing else, she could always lie. She gave a nod.

Instead of asking, the woman began to speak. Sara had been right, her new acquaintance knew all of the places and people her mother and septa would never allow her to know. The girl could have listened for days, but too soon her companion halted.

“We are almost there. You just go that way between the old oaks and soon you will be at the meadow, where you have left.” And truly, in the silence that followed the statement, faint echo of voices calling Sara’s name could be heard. It was Rickon and lady Catelyn and someone else. Maybe ser Lyam or one of the guards. Sara’s misadventure was at its end. She felt relieved, but oddly disappointment too. Of course, she wanted to reunite with her family, but there was so much more she wanted to learn from the older woman.

“There is still your question,” Sara reminded her to delay their parting.

Smile fleshed in the grey eyes. “I do remember, little one. There is only one thing I want to know. Do you truly want to marry the prince?”

Sara gaped. Sansa had asked her the same thing last time they had seen each other. There was something Sara could not understand in her older sister’s eyes then. And though she had no name for it, then or now, whatever it was she saw it in the woman’s gaze too. Even if the rough stranger and her refined older sister could not be more different. It was so strange, Sara forgot all about lying.

“I want to, I guess.” She began. “I always knew, we were to marry. It had been bargained years ago, between my brother – the King in the North and the King in the South Aegon. I even met the prince once. He seemed nice enough, though we were children then. _He_ is still a child, two years younger than me. But I do not think he will be a bad man. The king and the queen were not bad either. Even if Queen Arianne flirted with father and Patrek both and made mother worth. The younger princes are no more annoying than my own little brothers. And I want to live in King’s Landing. There is so much to see there.”

“It will not be all good. And it might be dangerous.” The woman warned her. “Now, there is a peace, but any peace is just a glass ball hopped about by a drunken juggler. When the war or rebellion happens, there are two kinds of people who are the first to feed the crows. Those at the deepest bottom and those on the highest top.”

“Nothing is all good.” Sara shrugged. “And you are the last one to speak about danger. You are going beyond the Wall. That is not just _dangerous_, that is _mad_! Why?”

“Maybe I am mad.”

Despite Tinkle’s reins getting in the way, Sara managed to cross her arms. “I don’t think so.”

One of woman’s eyebrows raised all the way to her hairline, making Sara wonder if she had been a mummer some time in her life. Sara had never seen anyone else do that. The next words were said with no trace of jest however. “And what would you think, little one, if I told you that it is dreams leading me there. Dreams which would not let me rest.” 

“I would believe you.” _My brother Rickon has dreams too. Strange dreams which come true. _Sara did not say that. Rickon never confessed to anyone but her. She would not break his trust. Abruptly she wondered what he would think of this woman and who would win a race if they both propelled their horses to a gallop. 

“Why won’t you come with me?” The girl offered. “Not for long, if you must go your way. Just for a day, or a meal. I’m sure my lady mother and brother would be generous to anyone who saved my life.”

There hardly ever was a sadder, more longing smile than the one she got as an answer. “I can’t. Not now, not today. Sometimes, even the tiniest step back is all it takes and you will never find the way forward again. But who knows? Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Or even to the lands where no castle was ever built.” The last words were said so quietly, that Sara was sure, they were not even meant for her at all.

**Author's Note:**

> The story was not beta-read. Feel free to point out any mistakes you spot.


End file.
